


Silver Giraffe

by Silbrith



Series: Crossed Lines [12]
Category: Supernatural, White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28149228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silbrith/pseuds/Silbrith
Summary: As Neal prepares for graduation day, ghosts from the past rock his and Sara's lives. May 2006. Crossed Lines story #12, a fusion of Supernatural with Caffrey Conversation.
Series: Crossed Lines [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/513628
Comments: 16
Kudos: 11





	1. Mind Tricks

**Neal's art studio. Columbia University. Saturday, May 13, 2006.**

Neal studied the pen-and-ink drawing lying on the worktable. He'd made a watercolor version of it for Noelle. She should receive it in the mail today. This was the first Mother's Day card he'd made for her. He hoped she didn't find it too sad. Certainly it had been bittersweet for him, but how could he not evoke the memory of her twin sister and the only mom he'd known until two years ago?

He'd based the card on a photo his grandmother had given him at the time of Meredith's funeral. It showed the two girls when they were nine years old. They appeared to be giggling about a private joke. When they were kids, their brother had nicknamed them Armageddon and Apocalypse because of all the mischief they'd gotten into, and the merry expressions on their faces seemed to reference that. Who would have dreamed Meredith would later suffer such heartaches? Should he blame his dad for how her life, as well as Neal's, was turned upside down?

That probably wouldn't be fair. James couldn't be blamed for all the misfortunes they'd experienced. Danny Brooks, the little boy Neal once was, idealized his dad. Now all Neal possessed were a few photos. The man might as well be a ghost.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. That was likely Oliver. Aidan had asked Neal to talk with him. Oliver was their year at grad school. Like Aidan, he was focused on film studies for his upcoming master in visual arts. Neal had occasionally seen him in the hallways when he visited Aidan's studio at Prentis Hall, but he knew little about the man.

Neal shoved the drawing in the drawer of his worktable and rose to greet his visitor.

Oliver was dressed in jeans, a worn Snoop Dogg t-shirt, and a slim worsted jacket which Neal would like to own. He had brown skin, close-cropped hair, and the handsome, lean appearance of a model or actor.

"I'm glad you didn't have to make a special trip to see me," Oliver said. He eyed Neal's cluttered studio. "I thought you'd be preparing to vacate your space."

"I lucked out. I get to keep the studio in the summer." Since Neal had received approval to specialize in artist techniques for his doctorate, his advisor had secured permission for him to retain it. He was counting on using the summer to prepare for his upcoming series of workshops. 

"I still have a ton of gear to clear out before the deadline next week," Oliver admitted.

He seemed in no hurry to explain why he'd asked Aidan to set up the meeting. Neal cast about for a topic. "Do you have plans for what you're going to do after graduation?"

"Nothing specific. I've been saving money to move to the West Coast, but unlike Aidan, I don't have a job waiting for me." He took a breath, his lips tightening into a hard line, making Neal wonder if he'd touched a nerve.

"Columbia is so expensive, most everyone has a job on the side," Neal commented, fishing for something to draw him out.

"Yeah, Aidan told me you consult for the FBI."

_Okay, that's a start. You're interested in my connections with the Bureau_. "I've been with them for over two years," Neal said. "I work with the White Collar task force—frauds, copyright cases, forgeries." He let his words trail off, hoping Oliver would plug in whatever was tying him into knots.

"How about sex trafficking?"

Neal shot him a startled look. He'd been prepared to hear about a student involved in copyright fraud or forgeries but not this. "That falls under the human trafficking wing. It's not my area but I could direct you —"

"—I can't do anything official," Oliver protested quickly. "If my parents hear about this, I'll be cattle fodder."

"They may not need to find out. Besides, if you know something about a human trafficking incident, your guilt over keeping it quiet will be harder to live with than anything your parents might do to you."

Oliver perched uneasily on a stool. "You gotta understand where I'm coming from. My parents are both investment bankers. They don't think much of a career in the film industry. And that's putting it mildly."

"You have lots of company." Several of Neal's fellow students complained of the lack of support they received from their families for wanting to pursue a career in the arts.

Oliver nodded absently. "When I told them about Columbia, they refused to offer any financial support. They said it would be a good lesson of the uphill struggles I'd face," he added bitterly.

"But you're still here. You've managed to find a way to make it work. They must be proud of what you've accomplished."

"They're starting to come around, and I don't want to damage that. But if they knew how I'm paying for tuition . . ." Oliver ended the thought with a shrug.

Neal tried to lighten the tense atmosphere. "Porn flicks can be hard to explain."

His eyes widened. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," Neal quickly assured him. "I was simply casting around for jobs that would cause raise eyebrows. It was something I considered when I was trying to figure out how to pay for tuition." That was a slight exaggeration. He'd made a long list of possible ways to cover expenses, including modeling, dancing, gambling, and selling forgeries. Luckily, Win-Win established scholarships for victims of Robert Winslow's crimes, sparing him the necessity of carrying out any of the schemes.

"I tried modeling," Oliver admitted, "but I couldn't get enough jobs to pay the bills. A friend was acting in porn vids. She provided the initial contacts." Oliver was sounding more defensive and uncomfortable by the moment. "As soon as I graduate, I'm taking my money and heading for Hollywood."

"The job site was where you heard about sex trafficking?" Neal prompted, hoping to pull him out of the mire of his own activities.

He nodded, looking relieved. "There's a local network of porn actors. We help each other find gigs. A friend told me about a producer who pays higher rates than most." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I figured as long as I was doing it, I might as well get paid as much as possible."

"What's the name of the company?"

"SHR Productions." Oliver relaxed into an embarrassed grin. "SHR stands for Sizzling Hot Reels. Their studio is in Brooklyn. I've been working there for two months. At first, everything was fine. They're located in a brownstone in an upscale neighborhood called Park Slope. The producer lives there. The working conditions were great." He winced. "I thought I'd found a cushy spot to pad my bank account before taking off for L.A."

"Then what happened?"

"A few weeks ago, a woman I work with told me she'd heard rumors about some of the films being made with underage kids. Obviously not something I approve of." He shrugged helplessly. "But it was only one report, and she didn't seem all that sure." He took a long breath. "Then Francie disappeared two weeks ago. No one knows where she is. One of the guys believes she was sold. He thinks the owner is a sex trafficker."

#

Peter set a quick pace to Watson Hall. He'd driven to Columbia for the last telescope workshop of the year and had invited Neal to celebrate beforehand with lunch at the Roaring Lion Pub. For the past nine months, Peter had been one of the volunteer instructors working with a bunch of future astronomers. This was the second year for Jones's nephew Ethan. The eight-year-old was almost as excited about the stars as he was about fencing. Peter suspected he hoped to combine the two by becoming a Jedi astronomer.

If Neal's childhood hadn't been so rocky, he could have been much like Ethan—a trusting innocent, a sponge soaking up new ideas and wildly enthusiastic about the world around him. He could have grown up with a dad, and Meredith could have had a loving husband. Meredith's alcoholism and the childhood abuse Neal endured might never have happened.

Peter found it impossible to think about Neal's dad without growing angry. A dirty cop who'd forced his wife and child into WITSEC. How much remorse did he feel for his actions? And now his wife was dead, possibly at the hands of James's enemies, and Neal could also be targeted.

Peter realized he was clenching his fists as he strode along the sidewalk. He took a moment to calm down before the campus police stopped him. Neal seemed to handle the news of James's disappearance better than he was. They'd both been warned by their federal marshal contact Annina Brandel to not attempt to investigate on their own, but Peter itched to uncover the facts.

Undoubtedly Neal wanted to as well, but he was abiding by Annina's request. Peter had asked him point-blank if he was looking into the case, and Neal assured him he wasn't. But that didn't lessen the threat. Would James try to contact Neal? Drag his son into whatever mess he'd gotten himself into? That was Peter's fear. But voicing his concern to Neal could nudge him into taking action.

After graduation, Neal's evenings and weekends would no longer be filled with classes, coursework, and university activities. Sara was still in London. Would his desire to investigate James become overwhelming?

There was no evidence of it when Peter arrived at the art studio. All Neal wanted to talk about was a potential case. During the walk to the pub, he reviewed what the art student had related.

"If Oliver's not willing to meet with the human trafficking task force, there's not much that the Bureau can do," Peter pointed out.

"Officially, I agree." Neal looked at Peter hopefully.

"What? You want me to suggest we conduct a rogue investigation?" Peter groaned. "On what planet do you think I'd go along with that? For the moment, our hands are tied, and I hope you noticed my choice of pronoun."

Neal gave a small huff, glancing absently at the passersby on Broadway. Were Peter's words sinking in? He decided to soften his tone. "Don't get me wrong. Your friend indicated a murder may have been committed. Any case of suspected sex trafficking should be investigated. Do you think you could persuade him to change his mind?" Neal didn't respond, his eyes continuing to be fixed off in the distance. "Neal? Are you listening to me?"

"Every word," he said quickly. "We can at least check the database to see if there's anything on the missing woman."

"Absolutely," Peter agreed, relieved that Neal was being sensible. "And I'll bring it to Agent Ortega's attention. Victoria is in charge of the task force. It will be her responsibility to decide if the case is worth pursuing."

"Agreed," Neal said. "So, your last telescope workshop." He offered him an easy smile, appearing eager to change the subject. "I'm sorry I won't be here to help out with astro camp. I enjoyed it last summer"—his smile broadened—"although I could have done without the vampires."

"Don't remind me! I'm counting on this session being much tamer. You get a pass this summer from camp counselor duties. A vacation with Sara is not to be denied." Peter had an ulterior motive in welcoming Neal and Sara's plans to spend a week together in England in early June. Thoughts of Sara would help quell any subconscious agenda to investigate James.

"Would you like to come over for brunch tomorrow?" Peter asked. "I'm making the world-famous Burke pancakes," he added enticingly. Tomorrow was Mother's Day. El had come up with the idea for brunch. They figured Meredith's death would make the occasion particularly difficult for Neal.

"Thanks but Henry's already invited me to join him and Eric. We'll make a joint call to Noelle from their loft." As they waited for the light to change at the crosswalk, Neal added, "Last night I opened the box of Mom's jewelry that Noelle gave me." 

When the federal marshals asked Neal where to send Meredith's possessions, he'd recommended the jewelry go to Noelle. She kept a few pieces then gave the box to him last weekend when she and her husband Joe were in town. They'd driven Neal and Angela's grandparents up to New York to see his art exhibition and the premiere performance of Angela's kids' musical.

"Did any of the pieces bring back memories?" Peter asked.

"Mom had a pair of Celtic knot gold earrings. Noelle said their parents had given them to her on her sixteenth birthday." A brief, wistful smile crossed his face. "There was a gold heart pendant engraved with D.B. I don't recall seeing it. Perhaps she'd had it made for herself when she changed her name to Deidre Brooks."

"More likely the initials referred to your name of Danny," Peter suggested.

"That's what Noelle believed. Sara might like it." His words trailed off as they entered the pub. "On to happier subjects! Did you hear what Mozzie's trying to persuade Travis into doing?"

#

Neal was relieved Peter hadn't noticed anything amiss as they walked to the pub. If he'd asked, what could Neal have said? This year, he was attempting to avoid deflecting Peter's questions because he knew how much it bugged him. But how could Neal admit he'd seen a dead man walking?

Facial resemblances were common occurrences. That's surely all it was. But the incident continued to distract him during lunch and was still bothering him when he returned to the loft. He decided to call Henry.

Neal heard the sounds of a sporting event when Henry answered the phone. He said Eric was watching a televised soccer match between Mexico and Brazil. Henry was trying to develop an enthusiasm for the sport Eric loved but admitted to Neal it was a tough slog. It was a sign of true love that Henry was making the attempt. He generally wasn't a fan of team sports.

Neal was glad when Henry offered to move into another room to avoid disturbing Eric. This was one subject he'd rather discuss privately.

"Have you been able to find out anything about James?" Neal asked. Henry had volunteered to make use of his company's resources to try to track down his father.

"Nothing so far, but it's only a matter of time," Henry said. "You know I'll contact you as soon as we get a lead. Did something come up?"

"Yeah. This morning when I walked to Columbia, I sensed I was being followed, but whenever I stopped to check, I didn't see anyone."

"Was this the only time?" Henry asked, his voice sharper.

Neal stood up from the couch to gaze out through the patio doors. Usually he had a gift for knowing when he was being tracked, but could he have been mistaken?

"It wasn't, was it?" Henry prompted.

"No," Neal admitted reluctantly. "I've had the same impression a couple of times this week. Today when Peter and I walked to the Roaring Lion Pub, for just a moment, I caught a glimpse of someone." He paused. Henry was the only one he'd ever admit this to, but it wasn't easy even to him. "He looked like Vance. Just a freaky coincidence, right?"

Henry sucked in a breath. "Probably, but I can understand why you were unnerved by the encounter. Feeling like you're being tailed is unsettling and then to have him resemble the pervert who abused you as a child would send anyone into a tailspin."

Henry's reassuring deep voice made the event sound much more reasonable, and Neal knew his particular brand of therapy was strictly confidential. Neal put his cell phone on speaker and flopped onto the bed so he could gaze through the skylight at the blue sky overhead.

"You've probably been staying up late finishing your papers," Henry said. "You sleeping okay?"

Neal shrugged. "It could be better. Last night I had a nightmare about Vance—that's the first time in years."

"There you go. You already had Vance in the back of your mind. When you saw someone who resembled him, your subconscious played a trick on you. What with Mother's Day being tomorrow, I'm sure you've been thinking about Meredith. Vance is part of those memories."

Neal nodded to himself. A bigger part than he liked to admit. Vance had abused him for months before kidnapping him. "Last night I opened the jewelry box Noelle gave me. That probably triggered it. She'd warned me to expect that something would occasionally cause unpleasant memories to resurface. That's undoubtedly what happened." Neal forced his thoughts off the imaginary and back onto what could actually be occurring. "It crossed my mind that James might be following me."

"It's possible," Henry agreed. "Or it could be someone affiliated with one of James's enemies. I'm not so concerned about the Irish mob being a threat. I bet the dirty cops James was working with on the force are much more dangerous. If one of them is in the Bureau, they might have access to your file. Do you want to let Peter know?"

"If there's a chance it's James, I suppose I should."

Henry didn't say anything, leaving the decision up to him, and it wasn't as straightforward as it should have been. "If only I hadn't seen that Vance double on the street, I'd be more inclined," Neal admitted. He crossed his arms behind his head. "As it is, I wonder if my mind was simply playing tricks on me and there was no one tailing me at all."

"One way to play it is to give yourself a couple more days," Henry suggested. "Then, if you still feel like you're being followed, the decision will be made for you. If you like, we could set up a sting where I'd tail you. If there is someone tracking you, I'd spot them."

"Let's hold that in reserve for now," Neal said.

"Okay, but my schedule's fairly clear next week and I could use the practice. Another round of Tuesday Tails, but this time without Splash?"

Neal chuckled, feeling better already. "An enticing offer, but Tuesdays are reserved for your puppy."

"How about Monday? Eric has Splash at his office that day. Thursday's also a possibility. With classes over, you're going back to a forty-hour workweek."

"I'll think about it overnight and let you know tomorrow," Neal promised. "How did your meeting with Allen Winston go?" he asked, nudging the conversation off the increasingly uncomfortable topic of James. Henry had gone down to Baltimore to speak with Win-Win's CEO at the firm's headquarters.

"We brainstormed new business opportunities. The New York office is ideally situated for some of them. Allen had requested I prepare a list, and thanks to you and Sara, I came up with a beauty."

"What did we do?"

"You remember Sara mentioned that insurance companies were starting to outsource their investigative needs?"

"You recommended Win-Win get into the business?"

"You guessed it," Henry said, his voice ringing with satisfaction. "Most of the major insurance companies are located either in New York or New Jersey. We could handle the cases out of the New York office."

"But you don't begin to have a large enough staff."

"I know. That's a sticky subject. Until we secure a contract, it's difficult to go on a recruitment drive. Allen said he's willing to lend me investigators for the first few months. Once we have our first client, I bet hiring agents won't be difficult. If nothing else, insurance investigators who've been laid off will provide a pool of talent. I might even be able to persuade a certain Sara Ellis to join us."

Neal laughed aloud. "You just might. She'd be returning to the fold." Sara had worked on Henry's team in Baltimore before going to work for Sterling-Bosch. This would be a chance for her to work in New York.

"And she wouldn't just be working with Win-Win," Henry said, the enthusiasm in his voice building. "We'd work in partnership with the Bureau, such that once the perp is identified, we'd turn the evidence over to the proper authorities for prosecution."

"It sounds ideal," Neal said, and perhaps not just for her.

"I recognize that she likes her current job," Henry said, not mentioning anything about Neal's status. "But if Sterling-Bosch doesn't come through with a transfer, this could provide another option. In any case, we're not in a position to make her an offer yet."

As Henry got into the weeds about the steps Allen had outlined for the possible expansion, Neal's mind wandered. He was confident Henry would make it a success. He had a much better head for business than Neal did. If Sara went to work for Win-Win, would he want to as well? Those insurance cases would likely involve fine art, jewelry, and antiques. The new art crimes boss in D.C. had already warned Neal that White Collar shouldn't handle those types of cases, and soon she might place restrictions on them.

But if he left the FBI, he'd be quitting Peter's team. Didn't he owe it to Peter to stay with the Bureau after all the trouble Peter had gone through to provide him an opportunity to turn his life around?

Neal turned his head at the sound of footsteps outside his door and froze. There, in the cheval mirror of his bedroom, Vance's reflection glared straight at him. Panic seized him by the throat. He involuntarily wrapped his arms around his chest, overwhelmed by a compulsion to hide under the bed. He jerked his head around, but there was no one behind him.

"Is that Mozzie's iambic pentameter knock I hear?" Henry asked.

Neal swallowed hard, sweat breaking out on his forehead. He blinked his eyes and looked again at the mirror. All he saw was his own reflection, his face white as a sheet. "Yeah, I better go," he said hurriedly. "See you tomorrow."

#

Mozzie didn't wait for Neal to respond. After all, he came bearing presents. Neal would be thrilled to see him, and with Sara in London, he'd be happy for company.

He flung the door open like the conquering hero he was. "I found it!"

Mozzie froze and stared at Neal with dismay. "What happened to you? Are you sick?" He hurriedly covered his nose and mouth with his hand. Confound it, with the flu season over, he'd stopped carrying face masks in his pants pocket.

"I'm fine," Neal said, jumping up from the bed. "What do you have in the tote?"

Mozzie looked at him warily. The color was quickly returning to Neal's face, and plainly he didn't want to discuss the cause of the aberration. The wisest course would be to drop the subject while giving him a healthy dose of honey wine to combat any latent germs.

"Extra bottles of the 2006 Columbia Commemorative Honey Wine. It's flying off the shelves so fast, I'm glad I'd set aside an ample reserve." This was Mozzie's first year to produce the vintage honoring graduating students. He and his business partner Billy Feng planned to produce special editions of both honey wine and honey mead every year with the labels featuring different buildings on campus. This year, he'd picked a personal favorite, Pupin Hall. The science building was the site of their SETI working group and the telescope workshops. Travis alone had ordered three cases. "Do you have any chilled?"

Neal nodded. "There's an open bottle from your last visit."

"Excellent, we should have some. We're celebrating." A bit of a ruse to spare Neal from the embarrassment of being told he needed restorative measures. Mozzie placed a small bag from the tote on the dinette table before heading into the kitchenette.

"What's the occasion?" Neal asked.

"Look inside the bag and you'll see," Mozzie said with a small snicker. He was pleased to see his suggestion had the desired effect. Neal already had a healthy glint in his eyes.

Neal pulled out the box wrapped in a traditional Japanese print cloth and smiled. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Why yes, I believe it is. Akihiro came through. He found the puzzle box of your dreams. He suggested wrapping it in vintage tenugui cloth. Sara will be able to keep the cloth as a memento."

"Plus I can fold it into an origami covering. Thank you!"

"Tosh, it was nothing. I enjoyed the commission, and it gave me a chance to reconnect with Akihiro." Akihiro owned an antique shop on the Lower West Side. He had an esoteric collection of Japanese and Western goods. "When do you plan to give it to Sara?"

"Sometime this summer. Now that classes are over, I hope to have time to finish the project before Angela's wedding." He winced. "That may be unrealistic since her nuptials are only two weeks away."

Ah yes, that explained why Neal had been flopped out on the bed. The crush of papers combined with extracurricular projects. Few had Mozzie's stamina. He could thrive on only a couple of hours of sleep per night, but Neal was not as fortunate.

Mozzie handed him a glass of wine and they sat down at the dinette table. Neal raised his glass to him. "To the successful filming of your _Doctor Who_ script, cheers!"

Mozzie clinked his glass against Neal's. "To the first of what I predict will be many episodes." There was absolutely no need for false modesty with Neal.

"When will you leave for London?"

"On Monday. The actual filming begins on the twenty-ninth, but I've been invited to participate in the preliminary work." Mozzie leaned forward. "They undoubtedly want to discuss future ideas."

"I'm sure you're right. Sara and I are looking forward to visiting you."

"She planned your vacation well," Mozzie agreed. "I'm sure I'll be able to take time out to give you a tour. Yes, it will be a whirlwind month. Aidan and Keiko are counting on me being present at their nuptials at the end of June. And before then, Travis and I will explore the Wild West together."

Neal's eyes widened, his smile broadening. The cure was coming along nicely. "Details, please!"

"I took advantage of Richard working once more at the West Coast branch of Scima this summer. Travis had originally planned to fly out to Los Angeles to meet him for Aidan's wedding, but I persuaded him to take the scenic route instead. You should consider it too."

Neal stared at him warily. "What kind of scenic route do you have in mind?"

"The kind that traverses Nebraska, of course."

Neal burst into a laugh. "Now I know you're pulling my leg."

"I most assuredly am not. Check with Travis if you don't believe me. The UFO sightings in Nebraska over the past few months have been off the charts. As members of the SETI working group, we'd be remiss if we didn't check them out."

Neal eyed him skeptically. "Are you talking about little green men in cornfields?"

"I haven't heard of any so far, although there have been some amazing crop circles. Unexplained lights in the sky. Giant drones. Even reports of animal mutations." Mozzie shrugged. "I offered to pay his way. I'd hoped Janet would go with me, but she'll be working on costumes for the American premiere of _Mary Poppins_ on Broadway."

"Offhand, I think I'd rather help Janet with _Mary Poppins_ ," Neal said.

"But Peter wouldn't," Mozzie declared, handing him a brochure. "This will make you reconsider."

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! It's hard to stress when Mozzie's around, and that brochure will be discussed in the next chapter. But honey wine isn't much help against ghosts from the past. Could it be time for a call to the Winchesters?_

_Background of Crossed Lines for new readers: In the pre-canon Caffrey Conversation AU created by Penna Nomen, FBI Special Agent Peter Burke recruited con artist and expert forger Neal Caffrey in 2003 when he was 24. In exchange for a confession, he was given immunity for past crimes and started working for the FBI as a consultant at the White Collar task force in New York City. Sam and Dean Winchester are demon-hunting brothers. Sam is roughly the same age as Neal. Dean is four years older than Sam. Peter is fifteen years older than Neal. For those familiar with the Supernatural timeline, the action is set early in the second season of Supernatural. The Crossed Lines page on our blog has more background information about the stories._

_Chapter Visuals and Music: The[Silver Giraffe board](https://www.pinterest.com/silbrith/silver-giraffe/) on the Caffrey Conversation Pinterest website: [pinterest.com/caffreycon](http://www.pinterest.com/caffreycon)_  
_Blog: Penna Nomen & Silbrith Conversation: [pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com](http://www.pennasilbrithconversation.blogspot.com)_  
_Twitter:_ [ _@silbrith_ ](https://twitter.com/silbrith)


	2. Ghost from the Past

**Federal Building. Monday morning, May 15, 2006.**

Peter stood on the balcony and surveyed the bullpen. Neal wasn't at his desk, but there was laughter coming from the breakroom. The odds were good he'd found his consultant.

He returned to his office, grabbed his Bureau coffee mug, and jogged down the staircase. As he approached the breakroom, a deep voice mentioned something about unexplained sightings. Peter now knew who Neal was with.

"I was skeptical at first," Travis said, "but mounting evidence points to something bizarre going on in western Nebraska."

Neal smiled at Peter when he stepped into the room. "Aren't you tempted to join them?"

Peter crossed his hands in front of his chest, making an _X_. "Not me. But I'm giving Travis a break from teasing since Nebraska's probably not much of a detour from the fastest route to Aidan's wedding. If he wants to search for extraterrestrials with Mozzie in the Badlands of the High Plains, who am I to deny him the thrill?"

"Perhaps you should reconsider," Neal said airily.

Peter stared at him. "Surely you jest."

"No, in fact I'll sweeten the offer to include horseback riding and fossil hunting."

Peter's mouth dropped. He'd been convinced Neal was joshing him, but why would he mention two of Peter's favorite hobbies? "Will space aliens be riding the horses?"

"I doubt it seriously, although since Mozzie found the place, anything is possible."

"You better explain," Travis advised, "before Peter dispatches you to the medical department for a checkup."

"The activities are at a guest ranch near Scotts Bluff National Monument," Neal said. "Mozzie discovered it when he was researching sightings. As you know, Sara and I will attend Aidan's wedding, which is the weekend after Father's Day. We'd tossed around a few ideas for a joint vacation with you and El the week before the wedding. This place sounds perfect and Sara's eager to teach me how to ride a horse."

"There's something you haven't done?"

Neal shrugged. "The only horse I've been on was at a carousel. Both you and Sara are experts. I figure it's high time I learn."

"El's never ridden either," Peter confided. "And she's wanted to learn. I'm sure she'll be thrilled." Although probably not as much as him. Peter had never traveled to the High Plains, and he was even more touched that Neal and Sara chose a spot with him in mind.

"El and I will be tenderfeet together. We can ignore any UFO weirdness Mozzie and Travis get into."

"The guest ranch boasts that its clear skies offer great stargazing opportunities," Travis said, looking a little wistful. "Mozzie and I are traveling in an RV. I suggested we visit you there, but he thinks we'll be too busy investigating crop circles."

"Would you like me to reserve a room just in case you're free?" Neal asked. When Travis hesitated, he added, "You can always cancel it later."

"Go ahead and do it. The shower alone will be worth it." Travis took a breath. "Probably best not to tell Mozzie about it."

Neal grinned. "Agreed. Peter, I have a brochure on the ranch at my desk. I'll drop it off at your office." His expression turned serious. "Any news from Agent Ortega?"

"That's why I came to see you," Peter said. "This is not the first time SHR Productions has been suspected of a crime, and the woman is still missing."

"If none of the Jane Does resemble Francie, that could be a good thing," Neal said hopefully.

"Possibly," Peter agreed. No need to point out all the ways a corpse could be disposed of. Neal was already aware of them. And if Francie had been sold to someone overseas, she would be out of their jurisdiction. "Your friend's report combined with the other evidence is enough to warrant an undercover operation. Victoria said she'll send two of her agents. She also volunteered to keep us informed. Think you could persuade the student to talk with her? She promises to keep his name confidential."

"I'll do my best. Hearing that the outfit has a shady past may help sway him."

#

By the time Neal left the office for a round of Monday Tails with Henry, his head was in a much better spot.

On Sunday, he hadn't found anyone tailing him to Columbia University. He spent most of the day working on his surprise for Sara in the university metal workshop in Prentis Hall. Aidan was there, clearing out his studio, and they had lunch together. Afterward, Neal spent an hour on the phone with Sara discussing Nebraska. No nightmares of Vance bothered him that night. He dreamed of Sara instead.

Although he'd taken Henry up on his offer to tail him during the lunch hour, Neal was starting to regret it. It wouldn't be much fun for Henry and would most likely be a waste of time. Normally, they tried to trick each other by finding devious ways to make themselves hard to follow. This time Neal was supposed to act as if he didn't suspect he was being tracked. It was bound to be a boring yawn-fest. But Henry was adamant they try it for thirty minutes. The sweetener was that afterward they'd have lunch at Neal's favorite tapas restaurant.

As Neal ambled along Centre Street east of Federal Plaza, he stopped to window shop at every storefront. He spotted Henry a block behind him. He was copying Neal's snail pace. To make it somewhat more entertaining, Neal tasked himself with designing a route by which he'd wind up at the tapas restaurant precisely thirty minutes after he'd left the Federal Building.

The sidewalks were filled with the lunch crowd. The usual honks and raucous sounds of lower Manhattan mingled with snatches of conversation. When Neal stopped at a crosswalk, he checked that Henry was still behind him. As was typical, many pedestrians ignored the street lights. He was in no hurry but it was easier to move with the crowd. Neal absently noticed a bus stopped on a side street, then did a double-take.

Vance's face was plastered on the side of the bus.

Neal stared at it speechless. Surely another hallucination. It was bound to vanish in a second or two.

But Vance continued to glare at him.

Neal found his arms wrapping themselves around his chest to protect his ribs. Memories of old beatings flooded back. Time slowed. He ignored the cars honking.

He was jolted back to the present when someone shoved him hard. Brakes were screeching around him. Neal blinked, his head still muzzy, as a van sped past. Someone had hurled him onto the pavement and out of harm's way. Neal looked up to see passersby clustered around him.

"Are you okay?" a man asked. "A lucky break that guy tackled you. You could have been killed."

Running footsteps approached as Neal frantically looked for the bus. It was nowhere to be seen.

"I'll take care of him, thanks." Henry crouched beside him. "Are you injured?"

Neal swallowed. "No, I'm fine."

"Then prove it by standing up. There's gotta be a better place to rest than the middle of an intersection."

#

Talk about a head-scratcher. When Henry rushed up, Neal had both arms wrapped around his chest as if he was in pain, but once Henry got him to focus on where he was, he scrambled up unassisted. He claimed he wasn't hurt, but something wasn't right. His suit had survived the fall without any rips but it would need emergency triage at the dry cleaners, and Neal wasn't complaining about it? That wasn't normal.

"Did you see the bus?" Neal asked. "The one that was parked at the bus shelter on the corner." His words trailed off as he stared at the intersection. There was no bus stop nor had Henry seen any bus.

"You need to sit down," Henry said, opting to postpone the interrogation. The accident had occurred close to their lunch destination, Malaga Tapas. When they got inside, Henry ordered the paella for two, and he wasn't going to let Neal leave till he finished his share.

"I saw Vance," Neal said in a low voice, taking a gulp of water. "His image was on the side of the bus. I must have hallucinated him." He took a breath. "When I get back to work, I guess I should call Doc Jacob. Something's not right."

"I won't argue with you about your last statement, but I'd hold off on the therapist. It may make more sense to call the Winchesters instead. Have you considered that the ghost of Vance is haunting you?"

Neal groaned. "Surely not."

"Hear me out. I've been thinking about your mom's jewelry. What if there's a piece that Vance had given her? It could be his soul-object."

"And Vance is a vengeful spirit from Oblivion?" Neal dropped his fork onto the plate, his eyes locking onto Henry.

"Hey, we should at least consider it. Charles Ireton's ghost haunted Columbia. Someone as evil as Vance could do the same. He had to be full of hate when he was killed in prison. The jewelry sparked old memories for you. What if one of the pieces has a much more ominous significance?"

"Suddenly, hallucinations don't seem so bad." Neal gave a slow exhale. "I'll call Dean this afternoon. A problem with your theory, though, is that no rift has opened to Oblivion. Travis installed security cameras in the tunnel. He and Mozzie have been monitoring the location, and I'm sure I would have heard about any activity."

"Then maybe a second rift formed. Hell, I don't know. But ghosts are real. We should at least check it out."

"Agreed, and I owe you one. If you hadn't shoved me out of the path of the van, I could have been roadkill."

"That wasn't me," Henry said. "I was a block away at the time. A man on the street was your Good Samaritan. I only caught a glimpse of him. Looked to be in his fifties. Shock of steel-gray hair, ruddy complexion. I scanned the crowd to thank him, but he'd already taken off."

Neal looked at him, startled. "You don't think . . .?"

"Think what?"

"That he was James?"

Henry stared at him. "Are you serious?"

"The description fits," Neal said stubbornly. "What was he wearing?"

"An old Army jacket and jeans. Kiddo, I wouldn't get your hopes up. I didn't see him tailing you before the accident."

Neal shrugged. "If he's a pro, you could have missed him. Maybe I inherited my talent from him."

Henry yanked off a piece of baguette to sop up more aioli before asking the twenty-million-dollar question. "What are you going to tell Peter?" Up to now, Neal had only eaten a couple of forkfuls of food. If nothing else, he'd start to eat simply to stall for time.

Neal arched an eyebrow. "What would you tell him in my place?" He gave a half-smile to show he knew exactly what Henry's tactic was and then deliberately helped himself to an extra-large bite. Whatever. At least he was eating.

"You're much closer to him than I am," Henry deflected. "I wouldn't want to influence your decision."

"Then you'll have to go along with whatever I decide, and I'm not going to tell him, at least not yet. First of all, as you so ably pointed out, I have only the skimpiest of circumstantial evidence that James rescued me. And if I told him, I'd need to explain what happened on the street, and that's not happening. Peter has enough stress in his life. I don't want him worrying that I'm being haunted by Vance."

"For the record, that would have been my conclusion too. And since we think so much alike, I know you'll agree to my staying with you in the loft until we get this sorted out. No one's currently using the Win-Win company car. I'll check it out and pick you up at quitting time. There will be no taking chances with subways or taxis until this is resolved."

Unexpectedly Neal didn't argue. "Thanks, I appreciate it. Go ahead and tell Eric what's going on if you want to. I'll tell June about my dad but not about Vance. James provides enough of a reason for you to hang around. June's already aware to be on the lookout for him and has seen his photo."

Neal's experience was making Henry feel even better about his decision not to try to connect with his ancestor. Seth Winslow had likely changed his name to Seth Winchester and a relative had given Henry Seth's watch. Dean's girlfriend Chloe had offered to use the watch in an attempt to summon Seth at a séance, but Henry had decided against it. Seth could be angry that his secret had been discovered, and there were already too many vengeful spirits flying around.

As for the key that Mozzie had found in the Win-Win archives, Henry believed he'd figured out how it had gotten there. His great-grandfather, a man also named Henry, had co-founded the company and was reputed to be a crack investigator. It made sense that he would have also looked into the circumstances surrounding Seth's disappearance. Henry bet he'd tracked down a Winchester relative and through him had connected to the Men of Letters. Someday he'd tell Neal about his theory, but not when he was already grappling with a ghost from the past.

#

Dean ambled back to Sam's table as he counted the bills. The diner at the truck stop outside Chanute, Kansas had proven to be surprisingly lucrative. None of the pool players approached his caliber. He could easily stay here a couple more days.

Dean slid into the chair opposite his brother. "Who were you on the phone with?" He waved his empty beer bottle at the waitress.

"Neal," Sam said, worry lines erupting on his face. "It sounds like he's being haunted by a vengeful ghost."

Sam filled him in on the pervert who'd abused Neal as a child. What he'd gone through in St. Louis made their childhood sound like a romp in Disneyland. No matter what their dad was hunting, he'd always made sure they were out of harm's way.

"Mozzie checked the tunnels," Sam said. "No sign of any rift from Oblivion."

Dean shrugged, casting a smile at the waitress who'd brought him another frosty one. "The sicko may never have gone to Oblivion. Dad's journal has a long list of ghosts who hung around for retribution. As for Oblivion, there are bound to be other portals besides the one under Columbia University."

Sam nodded absently. "Many of those vengeful spirits Dad encountered could have come from Oblivion."

Dean took a swig then set the bottle down. "Assume Vance did break out of Oblivion. One of those pieces of jewelry could be his soul-object. If Vance thought Neal was responsible for his death, his hatred could have caused him to latch onto a ring, for instance, figuring Neal would inherit it eventually."

Sam nodded. "And get this, Neal said Vance was killed by an inmate at Leavenworth. Word had leaked out that the guy was a child abuser, and someone took it upon himself to act as executioner. Vance could easily blame Neal for what happened to him."

"Does Neal know where Vance was buried?" Dean asked.

"No, but I could do a search," he said, opening his laptop. "I was also thinking of letting Maia and Chloe know. They may be able to detect if one of the pieces of jewelry has a connection to Vance."

"Then Maia could dehex it?" Dean mulled it over for a moment. "The risk should be minimal, at least to them since they're not connected to Vance, but if the ghost manifests itself, there's not much they can do to defend themselves."

"That's why I want Bobby to go along," Sam said. "He's built a number of curse boxes to have on hand. If there's any problem, he could stick the piece inside one of them, rendering it harmless."

Dean knew the boxes. They were meant for items with dangerous enchantments—a sensible precaution given they were living in a mansion formerly owned by Astrena. But so far they hadn't found any that merited extreme measures. That didn't provide Dean much comfort. Astrena was a Greek goddess who called herself the mother of witches. She could have placed a masking spell on objects, making the enchantments appear harmless or cloaking them completely.

"Leavenworth is only a couple of hours away from us," Dean noted. "Odds are the guy's buried nearby. We may be able to salt and burn the bones before he has a chance to carry out whatever revenge he's fixated on. Does Neal know what precautions to take?"

Sam nodded. "Salt around the perimeter. Iron poker as a last resort. Neal's cousin Henry is staying with him, although a second person won't add much protection."

"It might in this case. My hunch is the pervert wants to prolong Neal's torment before finishing him off. That fits the pattern of a child-abuser. He may bide his time, assuming that Neal will suffer more if he's alone."

Sam frowned. "Vance may also believe that Neal will be less likely to seek help if there are no witnesses. Speaking of which, Neal asked me to pass on that he's not telling Peter. He'd appreciate it if we do the same."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's a dumb-ass strategy. If this blows up in his face, he won't just have a honking-mad spirit after him. He'll also have a furious boss to contend with."

"I disagree. Neal's trying to spare Peter from needless stress. If it works out like it should, this will be over in a few days."

"I hope you're right." Sam and Neal thought alike. They shielded others from whatever was bothering them till they had no choice but spit it out. But if Dean pointed it out, Sam would start reciting the times Dean had acted the same way.

#

That night, Vance didn't invade Neal's sleep. Was it because Henry stayed with him? That circle of salt they'd made around the jewelry box couldn't have hurt. Possibly Vance was simply waiting for a more advantageous time.

Chloe and Maia said they were eager to help. Bobby's warnings about the dangers associated with confronting a spirit hadn't dissuaded them, and Neal was grateful. Bobby offered to drive them to the city the next day. They'd arrive at June's house around noon.

June wouldn't be present—a lucky break. She'd already agreed to attend a round of auditions Masterson Music was holding for new performers. Since Masterson had purchased the rock club Riffs, June was taking a more active interest in the day-to-day operations of the music company where she was the majority shareholder.

Henry dropped Neal off at the Federal Building before proceeding to his office. Chloe would call when they were an hour away to give Neal and Henry time to return home. Bobby advised that until then, Neal should be with others at all times.

He was glad another team was handling the sex trafficking case. Between his dad and Vance, he had difficulty focusing on anything else. Luckily, the other team members were busy with active cases. No one noticed his distraction.

Peter was away most of the morning. When Neal finally spotted him getting out of the elevator, he darted over.

"I know what you're going to ask," Peter said, holding up a hand. "Victoria texted me this morning. She reported the initial interviews were productive. Your friend Oliver even decided to speak with her. Her agents are picking up enough anomalies that she hopes to obtain a search warrant in the next couple of days."

"That's good news," Neal said, more than willing to go along with Peter's incorrect assumption. "Believe it or not, I'm happy to let Victoria's task force handle the case."

Peter raised a brow. "No desire to go undercover as a porn actor?"

"I would, but I didn't think I could persuade you to go in with me."

Peter groaned as Neal knew he would. "You got that right."

"I may be away longer than normal for lunch today. I hope that's okay. Since my acting ability's not needed, you probably don't mind. I'll make up the time by staying later this evening."

"That's fine. Is the graduation celebration already in progress?"

Neal slapped a wide smile on his face. "The campus is in full party mode. A group of us are meeting near Columbia."

Peter smiled tolerantly. "Just keep the partying out of the news. I don't want the other agents reading about you carousing during the workday."

"Aye, aye, mon capitaine!" Neal said, giving him a mock salute. He certainly hoped Vance wouldn't make the news. Deflecting Peter from the truth gave him an uncomfortable feeling, but it was better than giving him yet one more issue to stress about. He was much better off assuming that Neal meeting fellow grad students for lunch.

Last night, Neal hadn't mentioned his dad to Henry. The odds of James having saved him on the street were minuscule. Even though he continued to believe that's what happened, he knew he wouldn't be able to convince anyone else.

If he went to see the therapist who'd helped him last summer, Neal could predict how the session would go. Doc Jacob would say Neal already had James on his brain. As a child, he'd idolized his dad as a fallen hero. Now he was trying to recast him in the same role. When a random stranger shoved him out of harm's way, Neal leaped to the highly improbable conclusion that it was his dad.

Pathetic if that was the case, but Neal knew it wasn't.

Neal didn't want to whitewash his dad. He fully expected the man to have been involved with illegal activities. Perhaps he was even in league with the corrupt cops who'd caused them to enter WITSEC. But there was something about that hand on his back, shoving him out of the path of oncoming traffic. Neal could still feel it—the hand of his father.

#

Bobby stood with his hands on his hips as he took in the grandeur of June Ellington's marble entry hall. _Jeez. Life in the Midwest was never like this._

He'd convinced himself that Astrena's house was an aberration. After all, she was a goddess. The girls had warned him that the house where Neal lived was also a mansion, but he hadn't expected it to be this grand.

According to Dean and Sam, Neal was going to grad school on a scholarship. He'd only worked for the feds a couple of years yet he was living like royalty too.

Bobby felt bad that he'd parked his pickup in the driveway. He wished he'd washed it before the trip. He closed his mouth before flies moved in, not that any fly would dare trespass into this palace. "You're doing all right for yourself, I see," he told Neal.

"June took pity on me," Neal said. "She gave me a bargain rate for the loft apartment."

"Yeah, right." Bobby was in his usual flannel shirt and rumpled khakis while Neal was wearing a three-piece suit, looking like he stepped out of a magazine. His cousin Henry was almost as bad. This was Bobby's first time to meet Dean's double. It was easy to tell them apart. That suit must have cost Henry more than what Dean had spent on his clothes over his lifetime.

"Is June here?" Chloe asked, glancing around. She and Maia were both clad in jeans, boots, and Army surplus jackets. They didn't normally wear hunter clothes, but this was the first job they'd gone on without the boys. Why anyone would want the life escaped Bobby, but he was damned glad for their assistance.

"June's away for the day," Henry said, looking askance at the canvas bag that Bobby had lugged in. It was filled with sawed-off shotguns, iron pokers, and salt. "We thought we'd use the basement. One section is relatively empty."

"Good idea," Bobby said, breathing easier. "It's liable to get messy."

"Do you have the jewelry with you?" Maia asked.

"We already took it downstairs," Neal said. "We placed the box inside a hatbox and surrounded it with salt. I haven't seen the ghost since the incident on the street." He winced. "I'm starting to think my mind was playing tricks on me."

"We'll find out soon enough," Bobby said. "Even if this turns out to be a wild-goose chase, it's a good opportunity for the girls to test their skills." Chloe and Maia were quickly becoming a double threat. Chloe's ability to detect spirits was one of the strongest he'd seen. She rivaled Missouri Mosley's psychic ability, and until Bobby met Chloe, Missouri was the most powerful psychic he'd ever met. As for Maia, her innate ability to dehex enchanted objects was something Bobby had never encountered before.

Not that their undoubted talent helped reduce Dean and Sam's stress. Bobby had lost count of the number of times the boys had called in warnings and cautions. Bobby finally lost patience and ordered them to quit. The girls had volunteered to help. Increasing their nervousness didn't help nobody.

Judging by their tense expressions, Neal and Henry were as nervous as the girls. Which was, on the surface, odd. Only last month, they'd faced off against Abaddon and had taken it in stride. But monsters from your childhood are a special breed of demon. Bobby hoped that the ghost did appear and they could blast it to smithereens. It was the only way Neal would feel truly free.

"Stewing about what may happen isn't worth squat," Bobby said. "Let's get started."

Neal led the way past a fancy living room to a set of stairs off the kitchen. Once Bobby descended into the basement, he felt on more comfortable turf. Neal explained the front section of the basement had a separate stairwell leading to a media room, but the back half was used for storage and laundry. Neal and Henry had cleared a central area. The hatbox was on top of a card table.

Bobby nodded with approval at the circle of salt the boys had made on the floor around the table. "Here's how it's gonna go down," he explained. "Chloe and Maia will stand inside the circle with Neal. Henry and I will be on the outside. These shotguns are loaded with rock salt. If the ghost appears, Henry and I will blast him, giving Maia enough time to dehex whatever piece of jewelry is binding him to our world."

"That won't work," Neal protested. "If the ghost appears, he'll come for me. I should be on the outside of the circle. Maia and Chloe won't be able to disenchant anything with a ghost breathing down their necks."

Henry exhaled, his lips drawing into a hard line. "I don't like it either, but Neal's right. Bobby, our job will be to keep him and the women safe."

Bobby shrugged. He knew his plan was flawed, but he'd been counting on the girls working their mojo before the ghost appeared.

Neal picked up a poker. "Besides, who's the fencer around here? You need me on the outside."

"I ain't gonna argue with you," Bobby said, "but none of you have faced an angry ghost before. Their fury is not something you can imagine unless you've lived it. The girls have already heard the warnings. You need to be prepared. At least, remove your jackets, will ya?"

Neal relaxed into a smile. "You think we're overdressed? You make an excellent point, and this is one of my favorite ties."

While he and Henry stripped off their jackets and ties, Maia and Chloe stepped over the line of salt to stand by the table. When everyone was in position, Chloe opened the hatbox to take out a small wooden jewelry box. Bobby retrieved the curse box he'd brought along and handed it to her. If they couldn't find any enchanted items, the jewelry box would have to be stored in the curse box until—or if—Vance's bones could be found. Dean and Sam were on the way to Leavenworth. They hadn't found any record of Vance being buried there but hoped to find a marker in the prison cemetery. 

Bobby understood why Neal wanted to confront his demon. It was unfinished business. As for the girls, they were eager to prove they could handle the risk. Bobby's offer to keep all the jewels shut in the curse box was blown away by all of them. Everyone had something to prove.

Kids, they were all alike. Too reckless by half.

"Everyone ready?" Chloe asked. Once they'd signed off, she began scrying the jewelry, skimming her fingers slowly over each piece. There were only about ten items—a couple of pendants, a few bracelets, and some earrings. It shouldn't take long to get an answer.

Chloe's fingers stopped. "I found it," she whispered and held up a gold heart.

Neal swallowed. "That's inscribed with D.B., the initials of Mom's alias."

"Vance may have given it to her," Henry suggested.

"That's my hunch," Bobby agreed. "It'd make a perfect soul-object. Okay, Maia, work your magic."

Maia took the heart and pressed it between her palms. She began chanting softly in Old Irish, or at least that's what she told him it was. It freaked him out that Maia could speak a language that wasn't documented anywhere. Chloe was convinced the ancient druidess Airmid had gifted Maia with the ability, but that was hard to swallow. Still, the fact she knew the language didn't appear to do any harm, so he wasn't gonna work himself into a snitch over it.

Then all hell broke out. With a horrific howl, one of the meanest-looking dudes Bobby ever had the misfortune to meet popped into view. He was clad in an orange jumpsuit. His hair hung in greasy locks around a face contorted into slathering fury. Ignoring the girls, the ghost sprang upon Neal.

"Stand back, you son of a bitch!" Bobby roared and blasted it with rock salt from his shotgun. Henry unloaded on him too while Neal hammered him with a poker.

Their actions only served to enrage Vance further.

* * *

_Notes: I know—this is a terrible time for a chapter break. Can I blame it on Vance? But you won't have to wait long for the conclusion. I'll post Chapter 3 on Tuesday, December 22._


	3. Family Ties

**June's basement. Tuesday, May 16, 2006.**

Vance snarled as he lunged for Neal. The ghost's lank black hair stood out from his head as if electrified. Seeing his enemy's face inches away made Neal feel like that panicked child once more. He gripped his poker with both hands and bashed Vance as if he were a piñata. Over and over he slammed his poker, but to no effect.

Then, without warning, Vance disappeared. Had he jumped inside the circle with Chloe and Maia? Neal spun around. "Where is he?" he shouted.

"Disappeared." Henry wrapped his arms around him. "Relax, kiddo. We got him."

Neal stared at him for a moment, speechless, unable to believe he was gone.

"Chloe, can you read anything from the pendant?" Bobby asked.

She skimmed her fingers slowly over it for a long minute before shaking her head. "The heart's been disenchanted. It's harmless now."

Neal gulped in air by the lungful. He wasn't that nine-year-old kid. Vance wasn't here.

Henry urged him to sit down on an old trunk and Neal didn't resist. He was drained, unable to fully process the terror he'd felt. Was the nightmare finally over?

Chloe rechecked the jewelry and couldn't detect any enchantment. Bobby offered to place the items in a curse box but Neal didn't feel it was necessary. He intended to melt the heart as well as the other pieces in the metal workshop. The materials would be refreshed, ready to be reborn as new items.

The basement hadn't suffered much from the experience. Once the cleanup was accomplished, Chloe, Maia, and Bobby left to see Peony. They intended to stay at her bed and breakfast overnight. Everyone felt reasonably confident that Vance had been dispatched back to Oblivion, but until his bones were burnt, there couldn't be complete certainty.

That came late in the evening when Neal got the welcome call from Dean that they'd found Vance's grave in Leavenworth. The bones were now history.

Neal hadn't told Sara about the ghost. At first, he'd been too unsure about what was going on. Events then proceeded so quickly that there hadn't been time. But that night he stayed up late to call her. In London, it was early morning. He was able to report the end of Vance. Over the past few months, his secrets had become Sara's too, strengthening the bond between them.

When Neal went to work the following day, he was glad none of the team members knew what had taken place. With no discussions or commiserating smiles to deal with, it was easier to turn the page.

Did moving on mean he could refocus on James? Neal decided it did. No matter how slight the evidence, he was convinced that James had followed him on Monday. The question was why? And to answer it, Neal would have to locate him.

He didn't have a chance to do any follow-up on Tuesday since Henry had driven Neal back and forth to work, but on Wednesday Neal resumed his normal activities. He took the subway to work. He went out for lunch, making himself an easy mark.

His dad couldn't have known Neal was being haunted, but for some reason he was tailing him. When he shoved Neal out of the way of the car, had he thought his enemies were after his son? In that case, he could still be around.

This was one time Neal was grateful not to be in the middle of an undercover sting. Peter was keeping him apprised with daily reports on Oliver's case. On Thursday morning, the human trafficking team had obtained a search warrant for the property.

Neal suppressed the guilt he felt over not reporting his own activities. He wasn't working on his private case when he was at work. He further appeased his conscience by claiming he'd fill Peter in as soon as he had proof. After all, didn't Peter always demand hard evidence before he'd act? Neal was doing Peter a favor by not causing him to stress over something he couldn't do anything about.

Neal's break came during the Thursday lunch hour. He spotted his quarry on his way back from the French café he'd been frequenting daily. This time he was able to get a good look, and there was no doubt. His dad hadn't tried to disguise his appearance. The only difference from the photo Annina had provided was that he'd lost some weight. A side effect from his life on the run?

His heart racing, Neal circled around to tail him.

He waited till James crossed a side street before approaching. "Hello, Dad," he murmured, stepping up next to his quarry. "We need to talk."

James flinched and stared at him, speechless. Neal took advantage of his momentary shock to pull him into an electronics store on the corner. At the lunch hour, it was crowded with shoppers. They'd be able to speak in relative privacy.

"You were following me," James accused.

"Yeah, like you were me. I wanted to thank you for saving my life on Monday." _I'd like to get to know my dad._

"I'm glad you weren't injured. What was that all about?" James, like him, was avoiding the personal stuff. Neither one was comfortable enough for that yet.

"I thought I saw someone I knew," Neal hedged. "Not you," he added quickly. "I wasn't paying attention. It was a stupid mistake."

"I wouldn't dismiss it," James said, his eyes expressing concern. "My enemies may think you're helping me." He glanced around. "This is too public. We shouldn't be seen together."

_You can't escape that easily._ "There's a media room along the far wall. We can go in there." Neal was relieved when James didn't raise any further objections. Inside the sound room, a few shoppers were watching a demo of a car-racing game. The sound effects would help prevent any eavesdropping.

"How much do you know?" James asked.

"A marshal filled me in. She told me about your flight. She also said you believe Mom might have been murdered. Is that correct?"

He shrugged. "I have no proof." His voice was bitter. "Eventually I may find the evidence I need once my enemies are caught."

"How much do you know about my life?" Neal asked.

He gave a brief smile. "Everything that's in your file. I have a buddy from the police force who's with the FBI now. Don't ask me to give you his name."

"I won't," Neal promised, "but I can help. My boss will too. If you're in danger, you need protection."

"You're talking about Peter Burke? I know about him. His reputation is solid. I'm glad you have him in your life. You don't need me and my problems. Once I get sufficient evidence, I'll come to you, but not before then." He hesitated a moment. "I failed you. I failed your mom. I may have been indirectly responsible for her death. Give me the chance to make amends. You have to promise me not to try to contact me. If something happened to you because of what I—" His words broke off and he shook his head, his ruddy face turning deep crimson.

"It won't," Neal assured him. "You've seen my file. You know I can take care of myself. If you're right about your enemies, they must be very powerful to have accomplished so much. You can't fight them alone."

"Once I have the evidence, I'll seek you out. That's a promise." James stood up abruptly, reaching out his hand to shake Neal's.

"You can't just leave!" Neal pleaded as he too rose from the chair.

His dad unexpectedly flung his arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "Let me do this my way. I just want you to know, I'm damned proud of you, son. There will be time for us later."

#

Neal stopped to catch his breath, his emotions on the surface. "Maybe I shouldn't have, but I let him go. In the end, it's his choice." He slouched back into the chair opposite Peter's desk, regarding him anxiously.

When Neal showed up at Peter's office after lunch, Peter expected a report about the upcoming graduation ceremonies. Noelle and Joe were driving her parents to New York on Saturday. They'd stay at the Pierre Hotel overlooking Central Park with a dinner planned for that evening.

Neal's news about another family member came out of the blue. Clearly, it had knocked Neal for a loop, and it was doing the same to him. "And James didn't provide any more information on why he was following you?"

Neal shook his head. "He said he came to town because after what happened to Mom, he was worried his enemies had fixed their sights on me. He'd hoped to discover if anyone was tailing me. I think my reassurance that I'd be able to spot them carried some weight since I was able to sneak up on him undetected."

"You'll let me know if you see him again."

Neal nodded absently. "I don't imagine he'll risk tailing me again. He'll probably maintain his distance till he finds what he's looking for."

The news about the informant within the Bureau was disturbing. James swore the person had only copied Neal's file, but Peter wasn't ready to trust anything he said.

"Are you going to tell Annina?" Neal asked.

"I should," Peter said, hedging his response.

"What would it accomplish?" Neal argued. "If one of the marshals is helping my dad's enemies, the information could be leaked straight to them."

He made a valid point, and Peter also had a difficult time in seeing a benefit to the disclosure. A rap on his door provided a welcome delay in making a decision. He turned his head to look through the glass panel. When he saw it was Agent Ortega, he beckoned her inside.

"Victoria, this is my consultant Neal Caffrey," Peter said, making the introductions.

She shook Neal's hand. "Peter explained you were the one who provided the initial lead. I'm glad you're here. I have the results of the search warrant and took a chance you'd be available."

Peter hoped positive news would give Neal something else to focus on while they both considered how to handle what Peter labeled the James problem.

Victoria took a seat in the chair next to Peter's desk. "The owner of SHR Productions was arrested yesterday evening. The news will probably hit the papers tomorrow. We discovered a hidden graveyard in the courtyard behind the brownstone. The missing woman was one of the cadavers."

"One of them?" Neal repeated numbly. "How many were there?"

"Five altogether, of varying ages. They'd been buried in the dirt. For three of the victims, we only have bones. The owner has been in business for twenty years, so the timespan is daunting. We hope to eventually identify all the victims." She shrugged as her words trailed off. Peter sympathized. With cold cases, the odds were never good.

"Have you gotten a preliminary forensics report on them?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "Four women, one man. No one was older than their mid-twenties, as you might expect. One of the skeletons had a silver necklace that might prove helpful in identifying her. The pendant was rather distinctive—a small giraffe."

Neal blurted a muffled exclamation as his hand clenched into a fist over his mouth. "God, no," he muttered.

"Do you think you know her?" Peter asked, shocked.

"She's been dead over fifteen years," Victoria cautioned. "You would have been a child."

"That only confirms the likelihood," Neal said. "My girlfriend's sister ran away from home seventeen years ago. She was sixteen years old at the time. Emily has never been heard of since. She was fond of giraffes and wore a silver giraffe necklace. Sara Ellis, my girlfriend, said Emily never took the necklace off."

A deep heaviness settled over Peter at the grim prospect. "Do you have any idea what the giraffe looked like?"

"Yeah, I'd asked Sara to describe it. I'd considered making her a similar pendant. I haven't gotten around to it but I have a drawing in my files. The giraffe's head is bent down as if it's nuzzling its neck. The spots appear as small irregular indentations."

"I'm so sorry," Victoria said, looking at him with sympathy, "but that sounds like the pendant we found. Does Ms. Ellis live in New York?"

"No, but she's arriving tonight from London. She'll be able to come in tomorrow."

#

Sara leaned her head against Neal's shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. At the end of an exhausting day, they'd retreated to June's rooftop terrace. This spring June had bought a patio glider for two. It was as if she had them in mind. As they glided, they watched the sun dip below the skyline.

"I feared something like this had happened to Emily," she said. "I couldn't imagine why else she never contacted me."

Sara had identified the giraffe pendant as belonging to Emily. She'd also given a DNA sample for identification purposes, but Sara wasn't waiting for the results. She was already convinced that the victim was her sister.

"What can I do to help?" Neal asked. "We don't need to go to the family dinner tomorrow."

"Thanks, but I'd rather be around people." Sara took a breath. "You and I both need to put our ghosts behind us. Vance will never come back to hurt you, and Emily . . ." She bit her lip. "I know now she's been at rest for at least fifteen years. I like to think she's smiling down upon us."

"I know she is," he said quietly, stroking her hair.

She sniffled. "You and Angela will receive your master's diplomas on Sunday. Her wedding will be in less than two weeks. Frankly, it's a relief that there are so many joyful times to celebrate. We'll have our private service at the zoo tomorrow morning, and then I want to focus on you."

One of Sara's fondest memories had been of going to the zoo with her sister. She'd suggested they visit the Bronx Zoo on Saturday. The giraffe family had recently been expanded with the arrival of a baby giraffe. They planned to make a symbolic adoption in Emily's name.

"What was Peter's reaction to the guest ranch?" Sara asked, blotting her eyes.

"Ecstatic in a word. I'm not sure if he's more excited about digging up fossils, going horseback riding, or stargazing, but the kicker for both him and Elizabeth is to take a joint vacation with us. Peter confessed he's been daydreaming about that event for a long time. It's too bad your uncle is in London so Peter can't thank him in person."

That brought a smile to her face. "He knows about Mozzie?"

"Not yet. I thought I'd hold off till Henry's party, although news like that demands a celebration of its own."

She chuckled. "We'll have another one when we see him in London. Who will be at Henry and Eric's graduation shindig?"

"Half of Manhattan, at last count. It's open-house style so folks can come and go as they please. Henry invited Richard and Travis to celebrate with us since Richard's parents aren't coming for graduation. In addition to the Burke and Caffrey families, Diana, Christie, Jones, and Tricia and her husband Mitch will also be there. June and Mozzie's girlfriend Janet, of course. Billy and Maggie Feng from the Aloha Emporium were invited as well as Chef Jacques from La Palette."

"How about Aidan and Keiko?" Sara asked.

"They'll be off celebrating with their parents, but before the graduation ceremony, the Three Musketeers and plus-ones are meeting for brunch at the Aloha Emporium. Henry will be there in his self-designated role of Monsieur de Tréville." Neal squeezed her shoulder. "You, of course, are Constance. The only one missing will be Mozzie."

"I know he wishes he could be there."

Neal smiled. "It will seem like Athos is with us. I have a photo of him in the flamboyant wig and hat that he wore when he first met Aidan and Richard. I'm going to display it at the table, and Mozzie plans to phone in during brunch."

"I can't wait to see you in a cap and gown on the Columbia lawn."

"There's part of me who still can't believe it's not part of an extremely complicated con," Neal admitted.

She snuggled next to him. "Master's in Visual Arts and in Art History—you better get used to the accolades that will be coming your way."

#

"Sara holding up okay?" Peter murmured to Neal. Henry's bash was in full swing with guests both inside the spacious loft and outside on the terrace.

"Better than I expected," Neal said, smiling over at her. Sara was standing in a tight cluster with June, Elizabeth, Noelle, and Diana. "I bet she's suggesting ideas for new Arkham Files adventures for Arkham Sara. We dreamed up a few possibilities while we were at the zoo. Escaping into a fantasy world for a while can work wonders on restoring your equilibrium."

Peter nodded. "Speaking of fantasies, who suggested that Mozzie become Sara's uncle?"

"That was all Mozzie," Neal said, his smile widening. "He needed an alias to use as a scriptwriter and asked her if she had room for Walter Ellis in her family. She was thrilled." His expression grew more serious. "They'd become close during the rescue mission to Hungary, and Sara was the one who persuaded a writing agent to take him on as a client. Sara collaborated with Mozzie on the U-boat script. I'm sure they'll brainstorm many other plots together."

Mozzie was a member of Sara's family now, and he wasn't alone in feeling that way toward her. Peter knew that Noelle and Joe felt like he and El did. They were all eager to welcome her into their family with open arms. But were Neal and Sara ready to take the leap? Only a few months ago, they'd kept their dates a secret. No one wanted to jinx their relationship by putting pressure on either one of them. But surely Mozzie's seal of approval was a promising sign.

Equally hopeful were the upcoming trips. In a few days, they'd all leave for Angela and Michael's wedding. Afterward, Neal and Sara would be in England for a week—far away from James. Was the evidence James was seeking somewhere in New York? If he asked Neal to help, how could Neal turn him down? Would Neal try to shield Peter from any fallout? It was an unsettling thought but probably true.

"I had an unexpected gift this morning," Neal said.

"Oh?" Had James dropped in unannounced at June's house? This was the first chance Peter had been able to speak privately with Neal all day. Had James been aware of the graduation ceremony?

"Two bottles of Dom Perignon arrived in a cooler by special messenger," Neal said, blithely unaware of Peter's turmoil. "Can you guess who they were from?"

_Not likely from an Irish cop on the run_. Peter's gut eased. "Mozzie?"

"Then they would have been honey wine, and he already left me an ample supply. The champagne was from Klaus." Neal smiled. "One bottle for each diploma."

Peter stared at him for a moment, his train of thought jolted off the tracks.

Neal chuckled at his reaction. "I was just as surprised. After Tricia recommended I write to him, we've corresponded a few times, mainly about what I was painting. But we also discussed his life in prison. He mentioned Chantal was corresponding with him."

"I assume a card was with the champagne?"

Neal nodded. "He offered his congratulations, expressing his regrets he couldn't join me to drink it. He said he'd toast me today with the prison's finest grape juice."

"In your correspondence, does Klaus ever mention Rolf?"

Neal shook his head. "Not once. Klaus seems to be adapting to life behind bars. He'd offered to teach piano to his fellow inmates, and the prison took him up on it. They provided an electronic keyboard, and he already has several students. He enjoys teaching. His next project will be foreign languages."

Peter smiled. "What's next? Art appreciation?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Getting some distance from Rolf may be the best thing that ever happened to him."

"Or it could all be a con."

"I've considered the possibility as well, but I don't know what he'd get out of it except perhaps an early release for model behavior."

"Hey, reason enough. He may be able to cut years off his sentence." Klaus was convicted of stealing a painting of St. George and the Dragon by Raphael from a D.C. art museum and the attempted theft of a Vermeer painting in New York, but he could only be charged as an accomplice for the paintings that were recovered in the Hungarian castle. The question that Peter focused on was how Rolf was occupying his time. He made a mental note to find out.

Tricia had spoken with him about that very subject on Friday. She was proposing tweaks to the latest Arkham Files story to goad Rolf into action. She feared if they didn't initiate something, he could continue to be a threat for years. Peter understood her reasoning, but worried about what targets Rolf might choose. Neal and Sara didn't need any more stress in their lives. Peter planned to discuss Tricia's recommendation with Neal the following week at work before making a decision.

#

"I saw you talking with Peter," Henry said. "Is he still concerned about James?"

Neal had found him on the terrace. Sara was still talking with the female contingent of the Arkham Files round table.

"Not so much. I gave him something else to focus on." Neal explained the surprise package. "Peter thinks Klaus may have an ulterior motive, but I'm inclined to take it as face value. If it's a con, it could be as long as the one I'm supposedly running at White Collar."

Henry gave a soft snort. "I'd tread warily, kiddo."

"Don't worry, I will." Neal paused to check that no one was within earshot. Between the music and the chatter, no one should be able to overhear him. Dropping his voice, he added, "I had another surprise today. Dad was in the audience during the graduation ceremony."

Henry looked at him startled. "I was keeping an eye out but didn't spot him."

"He was there for only a few minutes. This may have been the reason he was in town. Did he think the graduation ceremony would make me an easy target? We'd speculated that the evidence he's looking for is in New York, but perhaps it's in Baltimore, after all. That's where he was a cop."

"I've been thinking about the timing of all this," Henry said. "Why now? If Meredith was killed, was it only because they finally traced her whereabouts, or was there another reason?"

"Like what?"

"Suppose there's some compelling reason for James's enemies to want to eliminate any possible risk of being exposed. Like, for instance, they're preparing to run for an office in the next election."

"I bet you're right," Neal said, excited by Henry's analysis. "Perhaps my dad's nemesis hopes to serve in Congress."

"We'll talk later," Henry murmured. "I may be able to persuade Win-Win to offer their research services to the national parties to provide background checks. Not only is it a great business opportunity, but it would also make it easier for me to get background resources."

Neal nodded, glancing over at Sara. "I told Sara that Win-Win may enter the insurance investigation business. She hopes it works out. I don't think she's ready to bail on Sterling-Bosch though."

Henry shrugged. "By the time, we're ready to move forward, she may have changed her mind. Have you told Peter about seeing James today?"

"Not yet, but I plan to when we're at work." By then his dad would likely no longer be in New York, and it wouldn't matter if Peter told the marshals. James would be an elusive quarry. Neal was confident Henry would find him before they did.

* * *

_Notes: Thanks for reading! Vance is no longer a threat and Sara has finally learned the truth about Emily, but much about James is still a mystery. His story is slated for the 2021Caffrey Conversation lineup._


End file.
